Crash
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series, the tag for 'Hunted', 2x10. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episodes 'Hunted', it belong to Eric Kripke and Raelle Tucker.  
**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

**Special thanks to JamesParker for being my gay sex guru.  
**

* * *

For a while, Dean had just laughed at the thought of Gordon spending possibly the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary where the fact that he was a badass vampire hunter wouldn't keep a giant dude named Bubba from kicking the crap out of him on a daily basis. Sam was still reeling a little from coming so close to dying for the second time in as many weeks, but he enjoyed the sound of Dean's laugh and was stupid enough to believe – or, at the very least, hope – Dean would just smile and shrug everything off and not freak out like he normally would. It was too good to be true, though, like Sam should have known it would be. After a while, Dean's good mood quickly soured as everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours obviously caught up with him piece by piece, and now he's sitting in his spot behind the wheel and scowling so deeply Sam doesn't even want to look at him, in case Dean decides it would be a good idea to take his anger and frustration and left-over fear out on Sam.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Instead, though, Dean just pulls over to the side of the road and bangs his fist down onto the top of the dashboard. Sam flinches. It's never a good sign when Dean's mad enough to take it out on his baby, but before Sam can say anything, Dean growls, "I'm gonna fuckin' _murder_ Ellen."

Sam frowns. "What? What does Ellen have to do with anything?"

"She told him!" Dean explodes. "We trusted that bitch, we _told_ her how important it was to keep that to herself!"

"I don't know what you're talking about! Told who _what_?"

"Gordon! About you, she told him about you. She must have, how the hell else would he have known about your whole psychic thing, about all the others? He killed that Scott whatever-his-name-was, and he tried to kill you, and he wouldn't have if she could keep a god damn secret!"

"What're you – no. She wouldn't, Ellen would never do that," Sam reasons. "Why would she do that? She's on our side."

"No she fuckin' isn't," Dean argues, pulling his phone out of his pocket and flipping through the contacts. "No one is. It was a mistake to trust her in the first place. I didn't even wanna tell her, but you and your stupid puppy eyes convinced me! And look what the fuck happened!"

"That's not fair."

"I don't care! It's you and me, Sam, that's it. From now on, we don't trust _anyone_ but each other, you hear me?"

Sam doesn't get a chance to answer before Dean's getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him so hard the whole vehicle rocks on its suspension. He talks animatedly on his phone for a minute or two; Sam can't hear what he's saying but he has a pretty good idea anyway. He calls the number Ava left him while he waits, wanting to make sure she got home okay, but it goes to voicemail. And then Dean gets back into the car with an only slightly less agitated look on his face and shakes his head when Sam asks how it went.

"Let's just go," he mutters, putting the Impala into gear and tearing back onto the highway.

He doesn't say anything else, so Sam tries Ava again and leaves a message this time.

"Everything alright?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, I hope so."

"Well, Gordon should be reachin' for the soap for the next few years at least."

"Yeah. If they pin Scott Carey's murder on him. And if he doesn't bust out."

"Dude, you _ever_ take off like that again," Dean warns, and Sam smiles sardonically.

"What? You'll kill me?"

Dean scowls again. "That's so not funny."

Sam chuckles. "Alright. Alright, so where to next, then?"

"One word. Amsterdam."

"Dean," Sam complains, rolling his eyes, and Dean grins.

"C'mon, man! I hear the coffee shops don't even serve coffee!"

"I'm not gonna just ditch the job."

"Screw the job! Screw it, man, I'm sick of the job anyway! I mean, we don't get paid, we don't get _thanked_, the only thing we get's bad luck."

"Well – c'mon, dude, you're a hunter!" Sam points out. "I mean, it's what you were meant to do."

"I wasn't meant to do anything. I don't believe in that destiny crap."

"You mean you don't believe in _my_ destiny."

"Whatever."

Sam sighs. "Look, Dean, I've tried running before. I mean, I ran all the way to California, and look what happened. You can't run from this, and you can't protect me."

Dean shoots a quick glare at him. "I can try."

Something tugs at Sam's heartstrings at the determined look on his brother's face. Whatever else is going on, Dean's always looking out for him, always trying to keep him safe. And as much as there are times when it makes Sam feel like Dean thinks he can't take care of himself, deep down he knows it comes from a good place. "Thanks for that."

Dean nods reluctantly.

"Look, Dean, I'm gonna keep huntin'. Whatever's comin', I'm takin' it head on, so if you really wanna watch my back, then I guess you're gonna have to stick around."

"Bitch," Dean grumbles.

"Jerk," Sam replies automatically.

"You callin' that Ava girl again?" Dean asks, as Sam dials and lifts the phone to his ear. "You sweet on her or somethin'?"

"She's engaged, Dean," Sam says flatly, as if that's the only reason he wouldn't sleep with her.

"So?" Dean smiles. "What's the point in saving the world if you can't get a little nookie once in a while?"

Sam mostly ignores him as the call goes to voicemail again. He frowns.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Just a feeling. How far is it to Peoria?"

"Too far to go tonight," Dean answers, and Sam looks over at him in confusion.

"You got somethin' better to do?"

"Hell yeah I do," Dean grins at him, eyes bright and happy like Sam so rarely sees them. "Like I said. Nookie."

Sam laughs and shakes his head. "You wanna have sex?"

"For future reference, you should assume I always wanna have sex."

A smile takes over Sam's face before he's even realized it, and he laughs again. "Fair enough. But c'mon, what if something happened to her?"

"Nothing happened to her," Dean argues. "Maybe she's in the shower, maybe her phone died. You don't go kickin' some chick's door down just 'cause she doesn't return your calls right away. Thought I taught you better than that."

Sam feels like he should maybe be offended by that, but he smiles again in spite of himself. "Fine. Tomorrow, then. First thing in the morning, we're going to check on her."

"I'm sure she's fine, Sammy. She's probably just having a bunch of reunion sex with that fiancé. Which, again, is what we should be doing."

"Yeah. You're probably right, but still, okay? She came all this way to try and save my life, Dean. She's the one who warned me about the explosion, she's the reason I'm still alive. I just wanna make sure she's okay, I owe her that much. We both do."

* * *

Dean grabs him and shoves him against the door the second they step into the room he got them, and as much as Sam's still a little preoccupied about Ava, he definitely isn't complaining when Dean's lips capture his in a kiss that's immediately as desperate and passionate as if they'd already been at this for hours. He presses himself into Sam, lips quick and warm and perfect, and Sam melts into it. He slides his arms around Dean's waist and pulls him in closer.

"Can't believe this happened _again_," Dean says against Sam's mouth, and Sam knows exactly what he's talking about. He's just as freaked out as Dean is that he almost died two times so close together.

"It was a coincidence," he says, pushing his right hand under Dean's shirt and splaying it wide in the middle of Dean's back.

"Like hell. You hadn't run away, this wouldn't have happened. Gordon wasn't looking for _you_, he was lookin' for that other guy."

"I didn't run away," Sam mumbles, but he can't exactly disagree with Dean's other point. It's inarguable that if he hadn't been looking into Scott Carey's murder, he wouldn't have run into Gordon and everything else probably wouldn't have happened.

"_Never_ again, is that clear? You never run away from me again," Dean snarls, shoving Sam a little harder against the wood and nipping roughly at his jaw while he rolls his hips against Sam's. "I'll get you a fuckin' leash if I have to."

It's on the tip of Sam's tongue to argue, but he knows the only reason Dean is this mad is because he was scared, so Sam lets it go. He wraps his free hand around the back of Dean's neck and angles his head up to kiss him again, bruising and forceful and just painful enough to cement in both their minds that they're still alive. Dying isn't what scares Sam, it's being taken away from Dean, and he knows Dean feels the same way.

Dean kisses him almost frantically for just another minute or two, and then he sort of snaps, grabbing Sam by the front of his shirt and unceremoniously hauling him away from the wall and dumping him down onto the bed before Sam's brain has a chance to catch up with what's happening. Dean's back down on top of him in an instant, plundering Sam's mouth with his tongue and pulling on Sam's hair and rocking his hips and an obvious bulge in his jeans down below Sam's waist. It's almost scary, sometimes, how crazy Dean can make him with not much more than a kiss. The only other person Sam's ever been with is Jessica, and even though it's been a long time and too many things have happened since the last time with her to leave the memories of it unmuddled, he never remembers it being quite like this. He never remembers kissing her like they were both afraid they'd forget how to breathe if they stopped.

Dean tugs at his clothes and Sam's head spins, too turned on to focus on much else but how much he wants to be naked right-the-hell-now so he can feel Dean's skin, have Dean against him and inside him so they can relearn what it's like to feel something other than fear.

"Up," he says, pushing at Dean's chest until Dean climbs off him, and Sam strips as quickly as he can while Dean grabs the lube and then pulls his own clothes off. He blankets Sam's body with his own again as he tosses his boxers over his shoulder, grinding his bare cock down into Sam's and Sam sees stars.

"So fuckin' … don't even _know_, Sammy," Dean grumbles as he nips along Sam's jaw, and Sam isn't really sure what he's talking about but it doesn't matter.

"Dean," he says, urging him on because Sam isn't anywhere close to being in the mood to take this slow. He doesn't know how Dean manages to unravel him down to the threads of his being and make him so desperate for it so fast he forgets his own name, but somehow Dean does and Sam sure as hell isn't complaining when Dean slithers down his body and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth in one clean motion.

He swirls his tongue around it, teasing for just a minute until Sam grunts impatiently and Dean sinks down lower, sucking hard as he bobs his head. Sam's dizzy with how good it feels, the sight of Dean's plump lips wrapped around him so god damn arousing Sam's vision is blurring a little around the edges already. Dean sucks him like he's trying to win a prize and Sam knows his mouth is hanging open and he probably looks like a complete idiot but he can't do much else than watch and moan and just drown in the pleasure that blooms firecracker bright through his veins. Dean squeezes his balls and pets at the spot just behind them, and Sam feels like he's going to come way too soon but he's not sure he'll be able to stop it. It happens like that sometimes with Dean – it's all too much, too good, too fast, too important.

Dean grabs the lube with one hand while he wraps the other around the base of Sam's cock and twists, his palm slippery with his own spit and with the precome Sam's sure is leaking from his slit, especially when Dean digs the pointed tip of his tongue into it. Sam doesn't realize the harsh noise ringing in his ears came out of his own mouth until there's a lube-slippery finger sliding into his body and he makes it again. Dean pushes his finger all the way in without pretense and then adds another just as quickly, and suddenly it feels like there's a black hole where Sam's stomach used to be, pulling him into Dean's gravity where there isn't enough oxygen for him to breathe but he doesn't care. It feels too good for him to care about anything else. And then Dean digs his blunt nail into Sam's prostate and holds it there, doesn't back off, and Sam cries out again and catches fire and explodes down his brother's throat.

Sam's dazed – disoriented almost, like the fuzzy moment right after a car accident – and he barely realizes that Dean's still opening him up until Dean's climbing back on top of him and pushing his cock into Sam's body. It goes a lot smoother than normal, probably having something to do with the fact that Sam's still boneless and practically incoherent, and Dean wastes no time getting a good rhythm going and pounding into Sam like he almost doesn't care that Sam's not quite with it yet.

When Sam does come back to himself, he groans loudly and pulls Dean's face down to kiss him again, although it ends up more a hard smear of lips and teeth and breathy noises that echo around in his brain until Sam loses track of which ones come from him and which from Dean. It's quick and frenzied and rough, but it's exactly what Sam wanted. It sews up all the spots inside him that tore open at seeing the look on Dean's face when Sam first walked into the room where he was tied up. Dean had been terrified, he'd thought Sam was dead, and Sam doesn't remember ever seeing his brother look so much like he wanted to weep with relief when it turned out Sam was okay. As much as he hates it when things like that happen, there's a part of Sam that also can't help equating Dean's terror with how much he cares about Sam, and that clinches tight around Sam's heart and won't let go.

"So – _fuck_ – so good," Dean growls.

"Harder," Sam chokes out, whatever else he was going to say getting lost on a long moan as Dean drives in a little deeper and hits Sam's prostate dead on. He doesn't let up, either, pushing his cock in and out of Sam's body like a jackhammer and Sam could cry with how good it feels. "Shit."

"Mine," Dean mumbles, quietly enough that he may have been hoping Sam didn't hear him, but Sam catches it and he wraps his arms around Dean's back and answers, "Always."

Sam loves moments like this, when Dean forgets that he's supposed to be the overly-macho, butch hunter character that he's created for himself. When he's too caught up in the moment to pretend anymore and he's just exactly who he is, deep down inside where he doesn't let anyone but Sam go. And even Sam only gets to go there on very rare occasions. That base, instinctual place where he's nothing but the person who loves Sam more than anything, even if he'll never say it out loud. Sometimes, there are days when Sam misses certain things about his relationship with Jess, like the fact that they could just care for each other and love each other without the unbreakable big-brother-little-brother molds getting in the way. Sometimes Sam wishes he could be silly and sentimental and romantic like most people can, without it being weird like it absolutely would be with Dean. But then there are times like this, when Sam knows that, as strange and unconventional and downright wrong as it is, what he has with Dean wouldn't be half as good as it is if they _weren't_ brothers. And then Sam remembers why, as much as he loved her, it never felt quite right with Jess in the first place.

Dean brushes the hair out of Sam's eyes and for just a second, there's a fond and affectionate look on his face as he gazes down at Sam, but then his eyes flutter closed and he groans again on a particularly hard thrust. Sam's never seen anything so beautiful. Dean's abdomen rubs against the head of Sam's cock as they rock together, and it's perfect, his whole body buzzing with so much razor-edged pleasure that Sam doesn't have the strength to wish it had lasted longer. Dean comes first, with a soft grunt in Sam's ear, and the feeling of him swelling and then bursting hot and sticky inside Sam tosses him over the edge too. His orgasm is even better than the first one, hotter and more brilliant and vivid, electric like a thunderstorm. He shudders and bites on his lip so hard he tastes blood, even as Dean keeps moving inside him until it's too much and even then Sam can't bring himself to push his brother away.

Eventually, Dean does move off him, and Sam just lies there and tries to remember how to breathe in and out until his head stops spinning. He smiles, happy and exhausted, and a small laugh bubbles up out of him before he can stop it. He expects Dean to laugh back, even if it's to laugh _at_ Sam instead of with him, and call him a dork or something, but Dean doesn't. He's strangely quiet, and when Sam glances over at him, there's an odd, unreadable expression on his face.

"Again," he mutters and Sam blinks blearily, not entirely sure what Dean means by that until his brother rolls back on top of him and starts kissing him again.

Because he sort of feels like his bones have all turned to some kind of squishy liquid, for a long time Sam just kisses back lazily. His lips tingle where they're already bruised and swollen but what Dean's doing with his tongue still feels really good and Sam gets lost in it. Dean deepens it, amping them back up near the frantic pace from before, and Sam just lets him because his brain still isn't quite firing on all cylinders and he can't figure out how to do anything but brush his lips back and forth against Dean's and hum deep in his throat when Dean swirls their tongues together. But then, after much longer than Sam probably even realizes, something in his mind hits the refresh button and it occurs to him what Dean's suggesting they do.

"Wait," he mumbles, pushing weakly at Dean's shoulder. Dean only pulls back far enough to drop his head down and lick at Sam's neck, and when he nips at the spot where Sam's shoulder meets his throat, Sam forgets himself again for another few minutes. "Wait, hold up," he repeats, louder, when he remembers how to talk again.

"What?" Dean asks, the word smeared against Sam's skin.

"What're you doin'?"

"What does it look like m'doin'?"

"You wanna go again?" Sam supposes it would only be the second time for Dean, but it'd be the third for him and he's really not sure he has that in him.

Dean just ignores him and keeps on going anyway, though, so Sam gives in. He takes his time, kissing and licking down Sam's neck and chest and rubbing his palm gently over the underside of Sam's almost too-sensitive cock. Sam's mind is racing a little too much to actually enjoy it at first, wondering what's gotten into Dean and then knowing exactly what's gotten into him and being worried that all the shit with Gordon affected him a lot more than Sam thought it did. But eventually, he pushes those thoughts away and lets himself relax enough to feel the tingly pulses of arousal stirring inside him again. Dean kisses him so profoundly it hits Sam hard right in the chest. There are so many unspoken things in the way Dean's lips move against his – love, fear, heartache – and Sam feels them all just as loud and poignant as if Dean _had_ spoken them, even though he probably never will.

"C'mon," he whispers, letting Dean know it's okay, and Dean nods.

He blindly reaches over to one side for the lube and slicks himself up again, and Sam probably didn't really need him to do that, but he smiles at the gesture anyway. There's something sweet and undeniably loving about the way Dean absolutely refuses to ever hurt Sam. Then Dean lines himself up at Sam's entrance again and pushes back in. He sighs heavily once he's sheathed all the way in Sam's body, his breath warm and moist against Sam's lips.

For just the first minute or two, Sam's hole feels tender and overused and having Dean back inside doesn't feel like he thought it would. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't feel as good as the first time either. He's never done this before, twice right in a row. But then Dean makes a noise Sam's never heard him make before, soft and breathy but harsh at the same time, almost like a sob. And it hits Sam how much Dean needs this, and then suddenly everything starts to feel amazing again. He kisses the side of Dean's face, whispering that he loves him, and he wraps his legs around Dean's waist and holds on as Dean rocks into him. It's slower this time, less hurried and desperate and instead deeper and more meaningful, like with every thrust Dean's trying to get himself right up into Sam's soul. Sam would happily let him, if it were possible. In a way, he's already been there since the day Sam was born.

Just when Sam's completely lost track of low long they've been at this and has decided he'd gladly spend the rest of his life just like this – tangled up in Dean with Dean's lips on his cheek and the round head of Dean's cock brushing over his prostate until he sees stars – Sam feels the stirrings of an orgasm in the base of his spine, and he's almost sad that it has to end. Dean, always scarily in tune with what Sam's feeling and needing, manages to wrestle a hand between them and wrap it around Sam's cock, and it only takes a few unhurried strokes before Sam's coming again. It's duller this time, less wild and sparkly but somehow more intense. It wraps Sam up in warmth and quiet pleasure, dissolving him until he knows the only thing holding him together is Dean. Working Sam through it gently, Dean doesn't speed his thrusts up; he keeps them slow and significant until he comes too, so deep inside Sam that he momentarily forgets Dean's cock is an intrusion and floats deliriously in the powerful feeling that they're both exactly where they belong.

Dean lowers himself down onto Sam's chest when it's over, his weight comforting as it presses Sam into the mattress and surrounds him until all he can think and feel and breathe is Dean. He rubs one hand slowly up and down Dean's sweat-damp back, closing his eyes again and letting the darkness and Dean's steady heartbeat lull him almost to sleep before Dean finally rolls off.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good. You, uh … you wanna tell me what that was about?" Sam asks softly. He knows what it was about. He knows Dean was tied up in that chair, probably listening to Gordon telling him all about the grenades he planted. He knows Dean heard the explosions, that Dean thought Sam was dead. He knows how horrible that feels, and he doesn't blame Dean for being upset. But he wants Dean to say it.

"I was horny," Dean replies with a devil-may-care smile that doesn't come anywhere close to masking the emotion still glistening in his green eyes. "The thought of that douchebag behind bars does it for me, what can I say. You complainin'?"

"You're funny," Sam says dryly, irritated that even after the practically life-altering night they just spent together, Dean still feels the need to keep Sam at arm's length.

"I wasn't joking."

"You really think I'm gonna buy that? I was right here, Dean, I saw the freak out. I experienced it, I was _part_ of it. You think you can fuck me until I literally have no fluids left and then just play it off like nothing happened?"

"I'm not playing anything. It was just sex, drama queen. What d'you want, a love song?" Dean says, with an eye roll for effect.

"It wasn't even close to just sex."

"Fine." Dean picks up his discarded boxers and balls them up, tossing them haphazardly toward his bag by the door. "Next time I'll get it somewhere else, then, if you're gonna be a girl about it."

Sam frowns. Dean won't do that, he's just deflecting, but it hurts a little anyway. And he's annoyed that Dean thinks he can be on the verge of a nervous breakdown one minute, and then just pretend everything's fine the next. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"Do what?" Dean asks colorlessly, like he'd really rather not know the answer.

"Put on that whole Dean Winchester show."

Dean scowls. "It isn't a show."

"Not always. But sometimes, yeah, it is," Sam says. "It's just us, here, Dean. I'm not some monster you're staring down, or some chick you're trying to get with. You don't have to pretend you're untouchable. Not for me."

Dean sighs and closes his eyes and rubs around the sockets with his fingertips. "Sam."

"Dean, I'm not – I get it, okay?" Sam picks at the skin under his left thumbnail and focuses his gaze on it so Dean won't feel like he's watching him. "Much as you like to joke otherwise, I am actually a dude. I don't exactly like talking about this stuff either, y'know? But it's … it's okay to be upset. It's okay to let yourself feel things. That's all I'm saying."

"For now, anyway," Dean mutters, and Sam clenches his jaw and tries not to take that too personally.

"I mean it," he says quietly. "I can't make you talk to me. But, just … what exactly do you think is gonna happen?"

Dean looks at him and frowns a little. "What?"

"If you did talk to me. If you admit that you're _human_. I mean, really. Do you think I'd, what, laugh at you? Call you a wimp?"

"It … it isn't that."

"What, then?"

"Sam."

Sam exhales and rubs his own eyes. He hates this. Hates that there's suddenly so much distance between them even though Dean is right next to him. Hates that he feels like he has to tiptoe around, watch every word that comes out of his mouth for fear it might be the wrong thing and make Dean close up even more. "Yeah. Okay. I can't … I don't know what else to say that won't piss you off."

"Sam," Dean says again, and his pacifying tone isn't what Sam wants to hear.

"Guess we should just sleep. Get a couple hours and then head out," he says, trying not to let it bother him that after all these years, after everything they've been through together, Dean still feels like he has to hide himself away. Sam rolls over onto his side and pulls the sheet up over his arms. Sometimes, he doesn't like how explosive his relationship with Dean can be. Sometimes it seems like they only ever exist at the ends of the spectrum – they're either so wrapped up together Sam can't tell where he ends and Dean begins, or they're a million miles away from each other. There's no middle ground, no balance. And it's never good when it goes so quickly from one to the other.

It's only a minute or two, though, until he hears Dean sigh again and then the mattress dips and Dean shifts in closer and puts a hand on Sam's hip. He moves until he's pressed against Sam completely, his skin warm and familiar against Sam's back, and he slides his arm around Sam's waist and rests his forehead against the back of Sam's head.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his breath tickling Sam's neck, and Sam's heart almost breaks in two. Dean tries so hard to always be strong, and Sam knows it just destroys him when he can't be.

"It's okay," he says immediately. He tries to turn over so he can see Dean's face, but Dean tightens his arm around Sam and doesn't let him.

"I can't," is all he says, and Sam knows what he means.

"I know. You don't have to, okay? Just … please?" Sam moves again and this time Dean lets him lean back just enough to press their lips together over Sam's shoulder.

Dean worms his other arm under Sam when they break apart so he can wrap both around Sam's chest, and kisses the back of his neck like another apology. Sam takes his hand, slotting their fingers together, and moves them both over his heart.

"I kinda killed the mood, didn't I?" Sam asks, smiling when he hears the low rumble of Dean's laugh.

"Just a little."

For a while, Sam doesn't say anything else and Dean doesn't either. Sam doesn't really need Dean to say out loud all the things he's thinking and feeling. He already knows them. Partly because of how well he knows Dean, but mostly because Sam himself has felt all those same things more times than he can count. He remembers way too many nights when he was a kid, sitting alone in a dark motel room, wishing and hoping and praying to whoever might be listening to bring his dad and brother back home safe. He knows exactly what it feels like to think it might be the moment he'll lose the person he loves forever. He knows how scary it is, and how it sticks with him even days later.

"I would'a ripped him to shreds if he'd hurt you," Dean says a second later, as if he knew what Sam was thinking.

"He didn't. I'm okay."

"I thought you were dead. It was just for a minute, but it …"

"I know," Sam says softly. For the third time, Sam tries to roll onto his back so he can see Dean's face, and finally Dean doesn't fight him. He just ducks his head down and kisses Sam, leaving his forehead resting against Sam's when their lips break apart. Then he pulls Sam in impossibly closer, so they're pressed together all the way to their ankles, and Sam lets Dean wrap him up and hold him tightly. It makes Dean feel better to touch, in moments like this, so he can physically know that Sam's alive and safe. It's reassuring, and Sam would be lying if he said it wasn't for him too.

"Can't lose you," Dean barely whispers.

"You didn't. You _won't_. I love you," Sam tells him, and Dean nods and holds him just a little tighter. It isn't enough, Sam knows that. No matter how much he loves Dean, it won't ever be enough to ensure nothing like this ever happens again, and it definitely won't be enough to stop Sam from turning evil like he's maybe supposed to. But right now, it's all they've got.


End file.
